"Do you see that yellow button below the com-panel?" he asked.
"Yes," Friday said.
"That's the nose dome antenna," Nazir said.
"Push it once then push on the external signal again."
Friday did. As soon as the button was depressed the voices began to come
in more clearly. Other zones were checking in. There was also a blip on
the small green directional map.
The signal was coming from the northwest. Friday switched back to
internal communications.
"We'd better check it out," Friday said.
"It cannot be a Pakistani search party," Nazir said.
"They would not communicate on this frequency."
"I know," Friday replied.
"The line of control isn't far from here. I'm worried that it could be
an Indian unit moving in."
"A sweep coming down through different zones," Nazir said.
"That would be a standard search-and-rescue maneuver.
Should we do a fly over "Why?" Friday asked.
"They may have intelligence on the cell's location that we do not,"
Nazir said.
"The direction they are headed may tell us something." "No," Friday
said. He continued to look out the window.
"I don't want to waste the time or fuel."
"What do we do if they contact us?" Nazir asked.
"Radar at the line of control may pick us up as we near the end of the
range. They may ask us to help with the search."
"We'll tell them we're on routine reconnaissance and were about to turn
back to Kargil," Friday said.
Apu stuck his small, strong hand through the opening. He tapped Friday
on the shoulder.
"Is everything all right?" he yelled.
Friday nodded. Just then, about one hundred feet below, he saw snow
billowing from under an overhang.
"Hold!" Friday barked at Nazir.
The helicopter slowed and hovered. Ron Friday leaned toward the side.
The puffs of snow were concentrated in a small area and inching toward
the north. They could be caused by an animal picking its way across the
cliff or they could be the result of a wind funnel. It was impossible to
tell because of the overhang. The sun was behind the top of the peak and
unable to throw shadows behind or in front of the region.
"Do you see that?" Friday asked.
Nazir nodded.
"Take her down and away slowly," Friday said.
The chopper simultaneously began to descend and angle away from the
cliff. As the target peak filled less and less of the window, the
vastness of the range loomed behind it. The layers upon layers of
brownish-purple mountains were a spectacular sight. Snow covered the
peaks and Friday could actually see it falling on some of the nearer
mountains, off white sheets like stage scrims. The sun cut a rainbow
through one of the storm centers. It was a massive arc, more brilliant
than any Friday had ever seen. Though Friday did not have time to enjoy
the view, it made him feel for a moment like a god.
They dropped nearly one hundred feet. As they did, three people came
into view. They were slightly more than two hundred feet away. The three
were walking close together.
Each one was wearing dark, heavy clothing and carrying a backpack and
weapon. They did not stop or look over at the helicopter until the rotor
wash stirred the snow on the ledge beneath their feet. Given the parka
tops they were wearing and the low rumble of the wind, Friday was not
surprised they did not hear the chopper.
"Is Nanda there?" Apu asked.
Friday could not tell who the three people were. He was disappointed to
see that only three of them had gotten this far. Unless-"Take us back up
and head north!" he shouted.
Captain Nazir pulled the U-shaped wheel toward him and the chopper rose.
As it did, the tail rotor and starboard side of the cargo area were
struck by short, hard blows. Friday could not hear them but he could
feel the craft shudder. He could also see the thin shafts of white
daylight appear suddenly in the bottom half of the cargo bay.
"What is it?" Nazir yelled.
"They think we are the enemy!" Apu shouted.
"It's a setup!" Friday snarled.
"They broke into two groups!"
The chopper wobbled and Friday could hear the portside tail rotor
clanging. The weapon fire from the stern had obviously damaged the
blades. If they had not pulled up when they did the chopper would
probably be plunging tail first into the rocky, mist-shrouded valleys
below. As it was. Captain Nazir was having trouble keeping the Ka-25
steady and moving forward, much less gaining altitude. A moment later
the chopper stopped climbing altogether.
"I'm losing her!" Nazir said.
"And we're leaking fuel."
Friday looked at the gauge and swore. They had already off-loaded
whatever gear they were carrying in the back. The only thing left was
the fixed-winch. There was no extra weight they could push out. There
probably was not time to get rid of it in any case.
Friday looked out the window as the chopper began to shudder violently.
The rainbow vanished as the sun's angle changed. He no longer felt like
a god but like a grade-A sucker. Of all the damn tricks to fall for. A
freaking sleight of hand, a sucker punch. The operative studies the
unthreatening team while a backup unit, either hidden or on another
side, tears you a new exit.
"You're going to have to set us down anywhere you can!" Friday said
urgently.
"I'm looking for a spot," Nazir said.
"I don't see one."
A sudden fist of wind turned them nearly forty-five degrees so they were
facing the cliff. A second burst of gunfire, this time from the group in
front, tore at the undercarriage.
The chopper lurched and dropped. They were at the top of a valley.
Friday could not see what was below them because of a thick mist. But he
did not want to go down there. He did not want to lose the cell and he
did not want to be here when the nukes went off.
"I've got to go down while we still have power for a controlled
landing," Nazir said.
"Not yet," Friday said. He unbuckled his seatbelt.
"Apu, back up."
"What are you going to do?" Nazir asked.
"I'm going to crawl into the back," Friday said.
"Do you have forward and aft mobility?" "Limited," he said.
"One of the tail rotors is still working."
"All right," Friday said.
"If you can turn the stem toward the peak, Apu and I might be able to
use the winch line to rappel to one of the ledges."
"In this wind?" Nazir exclaimed.
"You'll be blown off!"
"The wind is blowing southeast, toward the cliff." Friday said.
"That should help us."
"It could also smash you into the rocks--"
"We'll have to risk that!" Friday told Nazir.
"I've got to reach the cell and tell them about the soldiers ahead."
"Even if you can get to the ledge, they'll gun you down," Nazir said.
"I'll send the old man out first," Friday said.
"Nanda may recognize her grandfather's coat. Or they may see us as
pote
ntial hostages. In any case, that might get them to hold their
fire." Friday pulled out his switchblade and cut out the seatbelt.
When the strap was free, Friday detached the radio and handed it to Apu.
"With luck I'll be able to raise Striker.
I'll tell them where we are and approximately where you set down.
Striker will help us get to Pakistan and the Himalayan patrol can come
and get you. You can tell them you were running independent recon but
didn't find the cell."
Nazir did not look convinced. But there was no time to debate the plan
and he did as Ron Friday asked. With his feet braced against the floor,
his hands tight around the controls, Nazir carefully turned the chopper
around and began edging it toward the cliff. As he did, Friday
disconnected the communications jack but kept his helmet on. Then he
swung through the hatchway between the seats.
"What is happening?" Apu asked. His flesh was paler than usual.
Unlike the heated cockpit the cargo bay was damn cold.
"We're bailing," Friday said as he used the seatbelt to create a
bandolier like harness for Apu.
"I don't understand," Apu said.
"Just hang on," Friday said as he fastened the belt in front and then
led the farmer to the winch. It was difficult to stand in the bumping
cargo bay so they crawled to the rear of the hold. The line was
quarter-inch-diameter nylon wound around an aluminum spool. They
remained on their knees as Friday unfastened the hook end from the
eyelet on the floor.
"You're going to go out first," Friday said as he ran the line through
the harness he had created.
"Go out?" Apu said.
"Yes. To your granddaughter," Friday told him. The American tugged on
the line. It seemed secure. Then he motioned Apu back until the farmer
was crouching on the hatch.
"It's going to be a rough ride," Friday warned him.
"Just grab the line, huddle down, and hold on until they get you."
"Wait!" Apu said.
"How do you know that they will?"
"I don't, but I'll pray for you!" Friday said as he reached for the long
lever that controlled the floor hatch. He pulled it. There was a jolt as
the hatch began to open. Quickly, he grabbed the remote control that
operated the winch. The line began unspooling as frigid air slipped
over the doorway and slammed into the hold.
"Tell them I'm coming next!" Friday shouted as Apu slid back.
Apu grabbed the line as Friday had said, hugging it to him as he slipped
from the hold. With his free hand, Friday held the line himself and
edged toward the open hatch. The wind was like a block of ice, solid and
biting. He turned his helmet partway into the gale and watched through
squinting eyes.
As he expected, the wind lofted Apu up and out. It was a surreal vision,
a man being hoisted like a kite. The chopper was about twenty-five feet
from the cliff. It was listing to the starboard, where the rear rotor
was out, and being buffeted up and down by the wind. But Nazir was able
to hold it in place as Apu was swept toward the ledge. As Friday had
hoped, the forward group went to retrieve him as the rear guard kept
their weapons on the helicopter. The closer he got to the cliff, the
more Apu was banged around by the wind as crosscurrents whipped down and
across the rock face. But one of the cell members was able to grab him,
while another cell member held on to his comrade. When everyone was
safe, the cell member removed the winch line.
Friday reeled it back in. He watched as the farmer spoke with the
others. One of the cell members raised and crossed his arms to the group
in the rear. They did not fire at the chopper.
When the line came back in, Friday quickly ran it through the handle of
the radio then strung it under his armpits and around his waist. He kept
the radio against his belly and lay on his back. He wanted to go out
feet first to protect the radio. He crab-walked down the open hatch,
then pressed the button to send the winch line back out. He grabbed the
line, straightened his legs, and began to slide down. The brutally cold
air tore along his pants legs. It felt as if his skin were being peeled
back. And then, a moment later, he was suddenly on a rocket sled.
Because he was not onboard to control it, the line was going out faster
than before and the wind was pushing even faster. The cliff came up so
fast that he barely had time to meet it with his feet.
Friday hit hard with his soles. He felt the smack all the way to the top
of his skull. He bounced back then felt a sickening yank, then a drop,
as the chopper lurched behind him.
"Shit!" he cried. He felt as if he had been slammed in the chest with a
log. The line grew steel-taut as the chopper began to drop.
Hands reached for him from the ledge. The wind kept him buoyed.
Someone held the radio while someone else tried to undo the line.
Suddenly, someone in front of him raised an AK-47 and fired a burst
above his head. The nylon line snapped and the wind bumped Friday
forward. More hands grabbed his jacket and pulled him onto the ledge.
Because the wind was still battering him he did not feel as if he were
on solid ground.
He lay there for a moment as he sucked air into his wounded lungs. He
was facing the valley and he watched as the helicopter descended in a
slow, lazy spiral.
Then, a moment later, it stopped spiraling. The chopper fell tail first,
straight and purposeful, like a metal shuttlecock.
It picked up speed as it descended, finally vanishing into the low-lying
clouds.
A moment later he heard a bang that echoed hollow through the valley.
It was accompanied by a burst of or angered that seemed to spread
through the clouds like dye.
However, Ron Friday did not have time to contemplate the death of
Captain Nazir. The hands that had saved him hoisted him up and put him
against the wall of the cliff.
A woman put a gun under his chin and forced him to look at her. Her face
was frostbitten and her eyes manic. Ice clung to the hair that showed
beneath her hood.
"Who are you?" she demanded, screaming to be heard over the wind.
"I'm Ron Friday with American intelligence," he shouted back.
"Are you the FKM leader?"
"I am!" she replied.
"Good," he said.
"You're the one I'm looking for. You and Nanda. Is she with you?"
"Why?" she shouted.
Friday replied, "Because she may be the only one who can stop the
nuclear destruction of your country."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.
Washington, D. C.
Thursday, 6:25 a. m.
"What the hell just happened?" Bob Herbert asked Viens.
Op-Center's intelligence chief was sitting at his desk in his darkened
office. He had been watching the computer monitor with half-shut eyes
until the image suddenly woke him up. He immediately hit auto dial on
his telephone and raised Stephen Viens at the NRO.
"It looks like a chopper went down," Viens said.
"Chopper," Herbert said. It was more a question than a
statement.
"You were dozing," Viens said.
"Yes, I had my eyes closed," Herbert said.
"What happened?"
"All we saw was the tail end of a chopper approach the cliff and lower a
line with two men on it," Viens told him.
"It looks like the cell took the men in and the chopper went down. We
did not have a wide enough viewing area to be certain of that."
"Friday had a copter," Herbert said.
"Could it have been him?"
"We don't know who was on the end of the line," Viens replied.
"One of them looked like he might have been carrying a radio. It was an
electronic box of some kind. It did not look like U. S. intelligence
issue."
"I'll call you back," Herbert said.
Clancy, Tom - Op Center 8 - Line of Control Page 24